African Solitude

One can learn things through books, tapes, videos, or even go things like a seminar, see a counselor, often it  remains information stuck somewhere in our minds. Then there are times when we learn something by experiencing with the heart and soul that brings inner and outer change. My times of solitude were transformational, a change of heart and soul, translating into a changed life.

Recently I came home early from work and sat on the deck overlooking the bay in front of me. The sun was out, its rays caressing me with its warmth. I closed my eyes, quietly began to repeat the ancient words used by the mystical desert fathers ages ago, "Kyrios Elaison." My spirit settled and I drifted off in thoughts to another time, to South Sudan, a few miles from the Ugandan border in an area called Keiji-Keijo (calves corral). I could sense the smell of the mango tree that I was camped under. I could feel the night air, even though the temperature of the day had been 100 degrees. I could hear the sounds of bats as they went in and out of the large tree. Yet, there was a stillness, a sense of quiet, almost eerie like. I looked up to a sky filled with thousands of brilliant stars, the moon casting its bright light over the desert plane. I was caught up in a sense of awe, just taking in the moment, the experience.

Through the night air drifted the sound of drums as thousands of crickets joined this symphony of nature. As I sat there surrounded by sights, sounds, smells, my mind and thoughts were focused on my own life, on why I was here, what I was about, what I could do in the world in which I lived. There was a serenity, a peace within my heart, a stillness, and a sense of knowing.

Here I was in an area that was embroiled in conflict and war. Around me could be members of the Lord's Holy Ghost Army who were known for their brutal ways as they raided villages in nearby Uganda. They were supported by the government of Sudan, whose soldiers had only recently lost this area back to the SPLA which was the African rebel army fighting for freedom and recognition for the African population of South Sudan and were supported by the government of Uganda.

I smiled and asked myself the reason as to why my spirit was so quiet within? Why was I so at peace in the midst of an area known for war, hunger, death and disease? How could one be surrounded by mamba snakes, rebels, scorpions and still be at peace with oneself?

Was I missing something? Had I crossed the thin line of insensitivity and become callous to the reality of it all?

My thoughts drifted back further in time to one of the desert fathers whose thoughts and ways had touched my heart, St. Anthony, the father of monks back in 250 AD. A man who for 20 years lived in solitude, a solitude of choice, allowing for inner reflection, developing of senses that are numbed by the activities of daily life.

In my own life I had experienced that sense of being alone with one self for a period of time. A time of being alone in the inner sanctum of one's soul. Most of my life had been one of goal and outcome orientation, resulting in an inner restlessness. A sense of inner dissatisfaction, never enough, believing in the myth of the greener grass, wanting more and simply enjoying it less. My life was simply a cloud of dust, the dust of much activity with no time for the care of the soul. The nurture of the inner man was missing. On the outside successful and yet on the inside feeling a failure. Never being able to enjoy the just being me. I had bought into the American image of success. The image had been become more important than the real me. The projection of who I wanted to appear to be. Like shadows on a wall they appeared and there was always the deep fear within to be found out. For someone to come along and tap me on the shoulder and ask me if I was real. One of the humorous things about all of that was that I was not alone. All around me were people on the same journey of self-deception and inner turmoil. Running this race of life like a hamster in a little wire cage, appearing to move but in essence standing still.

Then came a time where it all stopped, and all there was, was simply me. I was alone with myself. A time of loss and grief set in, a time where I entered the furnace of affliction and transformation. A time of letting go. I remember standing outside of a jewelry store in Nairobi Kenya. My marriage was over, my children were 12,000 miles away, I looked at the window of the store and for a moment saw the two of us, I blinked and then there was only one. There was just me. I wondered then if she ever felt that way, ever felt that aloneness, that missing of the other. There was more, the loss of position, of power, of the imagery of all that which goes with it.

A transformation had taken place. No longer this man, filled with anger to change his world, no longer filled with youthful zeal, but changed, being changed by being in tune with one's heart. Like Anthony, I had spent time alone. I wanted like Anthony to be authentic, healthy, and whole, in body, mind and soul.

I had been such a busy man, my daily routine was filled with appointments, doling out advice after advice while my own heart was breaking. I was no longer a wounded healer, but simply wounded by life, by my own sense of busyness. I had sold my soul to the American idol of success of "more is better."

In retrospect the losses were gifts which brought me to the place of transformational change. I remembered taking hold of a small goat, that had an abscess and the farmer lanced it while I was holding it. The puss oozed out and I thought that was exactly happening in my life. I was being held in quiet solitude, stillness while I was being lanced by the events of life and the puss, the hatred, the repetitive and senseless activity, the toxic anger, the inability to be loving was oozing out of me.

In my time of African solitude I had gone through a transformation, the image of the old jon diminished in size and influence, the shadow figures on the walls of my life disappeared. A new jon began to emerge, new thoughts, or thoughts of old reappeared. All the scaffolding, all the flimsy structures tumbled. In my solitude there was no one to turn to, there were no phone calls to make, no emails to send, no sounds of music, no pages in a book to get lost in. I was alone with myself, feeling weak, vulnerable, broken, and yet, like a fern shoots through inches of thick asphalt, my renewed and awakened self began to emerge, to break forth into the light of day. If you listened closely you could hear the sound of new birth breaking the silence.

In retrospect I smile as I think back to the things that I wanted to hold on too. The images of having it together, of power, of wealth of position, yet like Solomon of old I came to the conclusion that pursuit of such things by themselves, without a nurture of soul and spirit is simply vanity, emptiness, life without meaning, not entering the purpose for which we were created.

The loss of image, power, wealth, position gave way to new thoughts, new values, and new realities. The temptation to return to the shadow figures of old remains and at times comes to visit, but the new has taken foothold, it is springing forth into life with purpose and meaning.

There were times I wanted to take shortcuts, go the instant result road, but laughingly I had to remind myself as to how much I like or rather dislike things like instant coffee, instant soup. A cup of instant Nescafe can never take the place of a cup of rich Harare coffee from Ethiopia.

Change, inner changed meant the old razor's edge slogan from Andy Granatelli as he used to advertise STP. In my case STP stood for self-denial, training and perseverance. Self-denial being a temporary measure in order to gain something of greater value, and inner life of meaning. Training myself in new ways of thinking from the inside out and persevering in those things. It also meant de-habituation in the old ways of thinking and solving problems, a re-habituation of the way of the heart and soul. In some cases it even meant amputation of things that were harmful to my newfound inner life, cutting away dead things, so that the life that was sprouting forth in me could come to fruition.

Under that Mango tree, on that clear African night I realized what had taken place; I had been changed. I had received what the ancients called "treasures in the darkness."

No longer was I cynical, no longer did sarcasm reign, no longer was I skeptical, not a victim of circumstance. I had become a person of hope of faith of compassion. I was at peace in the desert because I realized that all that mattered was to live out the life within me. To live out what had taken place much earlier in my heart. Never would I be the same, my inner vision of who I was had become reality and I was growing into it. Two years later I am learning to translate it into daily life, into thoughts, deeds, effortlessly flowing from a renewed heart and soul. There is also a sense of knowing that I could have missed all of this and how empty my life would still be...jon

 

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Last updated: 04 July 2010